


Puppy Knows Best

by Mandibles



Series: In which I try to cope with the Colton Thing [8]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Kissing, M/M, Puppies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-24
Updated: 2012-10-24
Packaged: 2017-11-16 23:13:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/544886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mandibles/pseuds/Mandibles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which it takes a corgi puppy to make Derek and Jackson realize there’s more to their relationship than sex. And, Jackson’s a brat, because he’s Jackson. (AND I COULD NOT THINK OF A TITLE TO SAVE MY LIFE. AND IT’S TWENTY MINUTES BEFORE MY CLASS.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Puppy Knows Best

Things have never been what you’d call, uh, domestic between the two of them. Sure, they’re really working on this whole—entirely sexual—relationship thing together, but they both know that Jackson’s never going to bring Derek home to meet his parents and Derek’s never going to spend the night. They aren’t in some puppy love like Allison and Scott; they aren’t going to grow old together, or even plan that far. At least, not with each other. They don’t want that, not really.

Leave it to a bunch of actual puppies to make them forget that.

Once upon a time, Tuesdays used to be their official unofficial fucking days seeing as it was the earliest day in the week when both of Jackson’s parents were out for a long period of time and, honestly, what else could Derek have in his schedule besides brooding? Fucking his ridiculously gorgeous maybe-boyfriend over every possible surface seems like a step up from that, in Jackson’s entirely humble opinion. That’s the main intent of Tuesdays, which means they never make it up the stairs before Derek pounces.

Now, though, instead of grabbing him by the thighs and pushing him against a wall with biting kisses, Derek beelines for the plastic kiddie pool that’s taken residency in his kitchen without so much as a hello, and Jackson trudges behind more than a little irritated.

When he gets to the doorway, he finds Derek already looking down at the squirming mass of brown and white, his leather jacket slung over his arm. “How are they?”

Jackson stuffs his hands in his pockets, shrugs as he walks over. “Good, I guess? I know absolute shit about dogs, but they look okay, right?” He pulls the jacket out of Derek’s grip and Derek takes that as his cue to drop down and reach for a yipping pup. They’re four-week old corgis, all fat little things with stubby legs, downy, fluffy fur, and shitty coordination. Derek picks up Jackson’s secret favorite, the oddball of the litter that’s mostly white while its siblings are brown, save for the circle of gold around its left eye.

There’s something about that, the fact that Derek chose that particular puppy. Hell, there’s something about all of this, how the pups yowl and bounce whenever Derek comes over, how Derek schools his face into a blank slate whenever he sees them, interacts with them, like he’s trying so, so hard not to react to them. There’s something, but Jackson can’t really put his finger on what that _something_ is, so he spends most of his Tuesday nights clutching Derek’s jacket close to his chest and watching him pet and scratch and pick up every puppy like they’re his pack or even his own.

He almost regrets that it’s going to end soon, that Tuesdays are going to go back to having his face shoved against the dining table instead of watching his Alpha play with a bunch of furballs.

Derek scritches behind an ear and the pup yips and nips at his chin with its sharp baby teeth. And, Derek fucking _smiles_ of all things, making Jackson’s heart skip a beat.

Okay, yeah, he’s really going to miss this. He scowls. He doesn’t _want_ to miss this.

“My neighbors will be back soon,” he declares. Derek turns his attention for what feels like the first time tonight; Jackson finds himself wringing the jacket between his hands. “I only have them for a few more days.”

Derek’s stare is firm, a little sad if Jackson looks hard enough, even as the puppy laps at his stubble. He doesn’t say anything, though, so Jackson feels compelled to continue, “They offered to let me keep one, you know, but I . . .” He draws closer, tentatively reaching to stroke fingers through fur. He half-smiles when he meets a puppy tongue and teeth instead. “I don’t like dogs. They’re just gross bags of shit and saliva.” It’s not the entire truth, obviously, but it isn’t a complete lie either. These three weeks have been a strain on what little patience he has.

A pause. “It looks like you did all right with them, though,” Derek says slowly, his tone tight as if he’s holding back a growl. His eyes remain set on the happy bastard that begins to wriggle excitedly in his hands.

Jackson scoffs and pries the pup from him, cradles it against the leather still in his arms. “My mom did most of the work,” he admits sullenly. “I’m not good at taking care of things.” Like dogs, or relationships, or himself . . . He losing the puppies now (which he’s convinced himself he doesn’t mind), but he wonders how long it will be before he loses Derek, too. Maybe after they’re gone, Derek will realize it’s not worth coming around anymore, now that it’s just going to be Jackson there. Everyone leaves in the end, he supposes.

Shit, he’s good at depressing himself.

He jerks at the hand that appears on his spine, trails up slowly before curling around the back of his neck. Jackson’s never anticipated a kiss with such heart-pounding fear that he sits there dumbly, staring in disbelief for the first second of it. Then, Derek’s suckling at his bottom lip and he gives in, presses up against him and opens his mouth. This kiss is different than the ones they’ve shared in the past, slower, sweeter, and Jackson’s ashamed by how easily he melts into their curling tongues, smacking lips.

A cold nose butts between their chins.

Jackson draws back with a grimace. “Ugh, seriously?”

“She’s jealous. Of me.” At Jackson incredulous quirk of brow, Derek huffs a laugh. “As much as you bitch and moan about them, they actually like you, Jackson.”

“How do you know that?”

Jackson exhales deeply when Derek noses at his face, scents him. “I’m Alpha,” Derek says as if it’s an answer to anything. “And, you smell like me,” he adds, softer. “You smell like an Alpha’s.”

Swallowing tightly, Jackson looks down at the slobbering bundle in his arms that’s trying so hard to claw up his shirt. “Am I, though?”

“Are you what?”

Jackson hesitates, then manages to meet Derek’s eyes. “Yours. Am I really yours?”

That gives Derek pause and he looks torn. “Do you want to be?”

“No,” Jackson answers too quickly.

Derek shrugs. “Then, you don’t have to—”

Jackson drags him into another kiss before he can finish the sentence, because it’s already starting to _hurt_. Derek is quick to return it, quick to control it, and it’s been so fucking long since he backed Jackson against anything that Jackson relishes the dig of the counter, the dig of nails in his hip. He almost forgets the puppy until she barks sharply; he groans when Derek breaks away again. Their foreheads bump and Jackson can hear more than see the smile Derek wears.

“Maybe,” he murmurs low, “Maybe we should take this to the bedroom?”

Bedroom. As in upstairs. As in a _bed_ , and not a table or a wall. A little awestruck, a little terrified, Jackson finds himself nodding. The puppy yowls in distress when he sets her back with her sisters and brothers, but she can only watch in frustration as the pair leave. Few kids take kindly to having their mothers whisked away by romantic suitors.


End file.
